Diamond Dogs
by The Queen of Hearts
Summary: RemusSirius drabble to the tune of David Bowie's 'Diamond Dogs.'


A/N: First finished fanfiction in a long time xx This is going to be an eleven-parter, one for every track on David Bowie's album 'Diamond Dogs.' (thought it kinda suited Remus and Sirius). So turn your heads away if you don't like homosexual relationships, slash, or drabble….that's everything in this fic. So yeah, just enjoy :3

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"_**This ain't rock and roll, this is…genocide.**"_

Sirius likes to listen to music. Actually, not really. He likes to blare music.

And it's nothing refined like Mozart or Tchaikovsky. No, it's rock. Rock 'n roll, or whatever strange uses of grammatical symbols those odd buggers like to employ.

Remus isn't very fond of music. He likes it when things are quiet, quiet enough so that he can focus on his potions homework enough to put the right use of a gryphon's talon, or enough so that he can at least hear himself breathe. Very important, that is.

Sirius likes to sing. Albeit a bit badly. He obviously believes himself to be the next Frank Sinatra or something of the sort, but that's a dream best left to one's fantasies. Sirius has about as much musical talent as nails on a chalkboard.

Remus hums when he's happy. Or at least when he's happy and alone. Not many people know that he hums. It's mainly because whenever he is humming Sirius is singing somewhere and everyone's energy is spent on trying to make their ears stop exploding.

Sirius knows that Remus hums.

"Moony, hum something coherent. I don't recognize that tune at all. You shouldn't make music up, it's not your thing." Sirius is lying on his bed with a record going next to him, flipping through some magazine or another, all of them looked the same to Remus.

Moony is across the room, sitting on his own bed, looking through his Transfiguration notes and scratching his nose. "I didn't make it up. You'd know that if you listened to something with class from time to time."

Sirius huffs. This isn't the first time Moony's verbally attacked his taste in music. Every other day there was a "Throw that repulsive excuse for musical composition out a window" or a "Maybe once my brain stops vomiting I'll be able to shove your record player down your throat." Remus was very talented at coming up with snide remarks about something that was very important to Sirius, and Padfoot wouldn't allow another bout of abuse from his friend to spew forth.

"Rock has class, you just need to look for it." Sirius gets up and crosses the room, flopping down on Remus' bed. "You're just ignorant."

Remus sighs and gently places his notes in his lap. "Yes Padfoot, I know, I'm wrong and horrible and should be punished severely."

Sirius nods. "Yep." He rolls over until his back is against Remus' thigh and reaches behind him to grab at his friend's notes.

Remus snatches them away from him. "Although, maybe you're singing voice is punishment enough. I hope you realize you're never going to cut a record deal or anything of that sort."

Sirius shoots up, a look of great displeasure on his face. "What are you talking about Moony, can't you see I'm a future legend? Just for that I'll never write a song about you or put a photo of you in one of my album covers." He shakes his hair indignantly, smooth dark locks flying all around his face.

Remus smiles and begins to hum again. It really is some strange tune, kind of soft and gentle but at the same time something one would willingly dance to. Sirius thinks that he would dance to it, if he knew how to dance without trading all over the feet of people he didn't know.

"You know," Sirius says, after some time of silent contemplation, "I think that when I am rich and famous, I will hire someone to teach me to dance properly. I may be a singing sensation, but my dancing skills are sub-par."

Remus wants to retort with a very unoriginal "What else is new?" but stops before he even opens his mouth. He can't dance either. It would be rather rude to poke fun at Sirius' disability in the ballroom when he himself has two left feet. Instead, he says, "Maybe by then I'll be able to suggest someone to you."

"What…" Sirius scoots closer. "Are you telling me you can't dance either? Or are you dating a dance instructor? Oh god, I sure hope it's not some ballerina, imagine the wedding…pink frilly things and swans and the sort all over the cake, and that is _completely _unappetizing…"

Remus stops humming for a moment to laugh. He tries to imagine Sirius as a ballerina, just for the fun of it, and laughs harder. "You should wear pink frilly things sometime, it would go well with your act."

Sirius wants to hit him. "I am not some poof for you to ogle, Mr. Moony. I am an _artist_. And not every rock star wears fruity things, leather pants are actually quite manly in some countries, there's no need for you to pretend you're not entirely attracted to a man in glitter…"

Remus is laughing again. Really, he must get a bridle on these fits. Or Sirius needs to shut up, one or the other.

"Shut up Sirius."

Remus realized much later Sirius wasn't such an awful singer, if he really tried (and didn't attempt anything feminine) he could give rather a pleasant performance.

Lily and James looked amazing. They were Meant To Be and all those other silly couple-y things that Remus would never fully understand. The wedding had been small and sweet, but so much more than enough to mean something to everyone that attended.

It was now the reception. Sirius had called a toast to the new groom and bride, and had made a lovely little speech about how it as lovely that love could still be found in these dark times (but not so dark as James' underthings drawer, that was a dank place indeed) and how everyone should learn to love they way they did, and no one should take their love for granted. After a stirring round of applause, Sirius announced that he (in all his celebrated glory) would be singing an excerpt from a song he believed to fit the situation rather well. There were a few groans from his closer friends, but in the end he sang away.

"_I'm glad that you're older than me  
Makes me feel important and free  
Does that make you smile, isn't that me?  
I'm in your way, and I'll steal every moment  
If this trade is a curse, then I'll bless you  
And turn to the crossroads of Hamburg, as in_

_  
Boys, boys, its a sweet thing  
Boys, boys, its a sweet thing, sweet thing  
If you want it, boys, get it here, thing  
'Cause hope, boys, is a cheap thing, cheap thing"_

A surprised applause rang clean, and Sirius took his seat again.

James and Lily have already danced. Sirius is sprawled out in a chair, tie loose and shirt rumpled. Remus has just gotten back from the buffet table, carrying a glass of water and a croissant.

He sits down next to his weary-looking friend. "Bugger Sirius, if I had known you'd be any good at singing I wouldn't have teased you so much about it." He bites into his croissant.

"Well yeah, that's why I'm suddenly Mister Lovely Lungs. I heard myself Moony, I was dreadful. And I'd already resolved to singing at this wedding. So I decided to get better." He swipes Remus' water and takes a long sip.

Remus grabs his water back. "Maybe now you actually have the chance at a hit album. All joking aside, that song was lovely."

Sirius barks out a laugh. "Are you kidding me, Moony? That was Bowie, I can't write to save my life. You know that. You're obviously not the Remus I grew to adore."

Remus shakes his head. "We can all change. I mean, take your new talent for an example. Before, I'd never heard anything so mind-bogglingly awful as your singing. Now, you're listenable."

"Still, all my dreams have not come true." Sirius smiles. "I am neither rich nor famous and I still can't dance."

Remus scans the dance floor. There's Lily and James, lost in their own newlywed world, dancing slowly to the tune of the band in the corner. They're not really even dancing, just sort of swaying back and forth while staring at each other helplessly. If being in love meant swaying and frilly cakes then he wasn't entirely sure he was jealous of them. "That's why we're sitting over here. Neither of us can."

As if struck by a sudden lightening bold of genius, Sirius leaps out of his chair, toppling over Remus' glass of water in the process. "Let's dance."

Remus is tugged up violently by an enthusiastic Sirius. He finds himself in a very awkward position; one hand around Sirius' hip, the other clasped in his friend's, gently but surely pressed against a slim male figure.

"B-But Sirius, we'll look like complete imbeciles. And I haven't finished my croissant yet, it was actually quite good, and please just let me go I am such a dreadful dancer…"

Sirius delicately conks his forehead on Remus'. "Maybe our separate awfulnesses will cancel each other out, and we may actually appear to be quite good at dancing." With a reassuring smile, he added, "It really couldn't hurt to try."

Remus is about to tell Sirius that of course it could hurt, have you ever seen me try to dance, there's all sorts of terrible pain that comes of it, but he's swung around rather ferociously as a new song starts up.

Sirius' theory proves false in the end, as the pair continuously knocks over chairs and other dancers through their made tirade of clumsy movements and hysterics. In the end, James blushingly hisses at them to continue their strange ritual elsewhere, lest they be forcibly removed.

Laughing and tumbling over one another, Remus and Sirius barge outside. They're still loosely hanging onto each other, swinging around to some non-existent tune. For some reason to them it's very funny. Since when was James such a prat? Had marriage prematurely turned him into an old man? It didn't matter to them anymore, all they could do now was dance.

Sirius trips and holds onto Remus, who falls as well. Still laughing they roll around on the grass like the dogs they are, enjoying every stain they get on their pristine clothing.

"Rock may have class, but we certainly don't." Remus finally stops his rolling/giggling fit, laying on his stomach and propping his head up with his arms.

Sirius stops as well, staring up at the sky, spread eagled on the ground. "Never said we had to, mate."

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A/N: Well that was abrupt. I said it was drabble, and I just stopped drabbling. But oh well, no story's perfect. I had no plan for this XD I find no fault.

Next track – Diamond Dogs


End file.
